


It's always you

by Spoofinator



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunk!Sherlock, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Headcanon, I'm Sorry, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Post S4, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots, Tiny Angst, Very light smut, drunk!John, just making out, kind of parentlock, not even smut, sherlock and john - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 01:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoofinator/pseuds/Spoofinator
Summary: Sherlock tries to help John be okay with a night out. Shenanigans ensue.





	It's always you

**Author's Note:**

> Post S4. Very little angst. Pretty much my post s4 headcanon, just a little different. I havent written a fic in like 6 years so hopefully it's not the worst.  
> Also Warning! There is some homophobia and homophobic language from assholes in a bar.

John awoke to the early morning light filtering through a crack in the blinds. A glance at his clock told him it was 5:45am, earlier than usual, but he decided he might as well get up.  
He checked Rosie's crib to find her still sleeping softly before heading down the stairs.  
He thought it would be odd being back at 221B, but it had been a month now since he moved back in and it had taken little to no adjusting. Sherlock had surprised him by baby proofing everything before he had even brought it up to move back in.

“Tea is on the counter.”  
John startled a bit, he hadn't noticed Sherlock sitting on his chair- still as a statue.  
“Right, thanks,” he paused, “why?”  
“Experiment, I needed the cabinet- tea was in the way.”  
John shook his head, smiling a bit in spite of himself. He appreciated that it was never dull living with Sherlock, no wonder it always felt like home.  
He made himself and Sherlock a cuppa, setting Sherlock’s next to his chair before sitting down on his own chair.  
“Didn't sleep?” John asked, although he already knew the answer.  
“Obviously, experiment, like I said.” Sherlock replied nonchalantly, a bored look on his face.  
“Right, then, how'd that go?”  
“Boring. Didn't work.”  
“No cases?”  
“I'm afraid I've caught all the fun criminals, that or they've all gone on holiday. London is nauseatingly quiet.”  
John hummed in response, taking his laptop off the table next to him and setting it in his lap. As much as he craved excitement, he could do without one of Sherlock’s tantrums, he had a real baby to take care of.  
“You're doing well then.” Sherlock asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled around them.  
“Hm, yes, I suppose. Why do you ask.”  
“Up early, when you're fine you sleep late, sometimes too late, you saw your therapist yesterday, third week in a row-”  
“I get it, I'm fine, Sherlock.”  
They started at each other for a moment.  
“I thought we could go out tonight.” Sherlock said with zero intonation.  
“Out?”  
“Yes, for drinks- like you and Lestrade do after a particularly hard case.”  
“You hate going out. Why would we do that?”  
“Because according to a few different television programs it seems to be what people do when they are… not fine.”  
“Sherlock, I've told you before, you don't have to try and apologize-”  
“I'm not, John, I just thought it might help.”  
“You do remember what happened on my stag night, don't you? Or did you delete that?”  
“I had Molly do the chemistry that time, I will do it myself this time, however tedious, I am sure I'll get better results.”  
“Chemistry… Sherlock that was not the problem-” John sighed, “you know what, yes. Why not. I suppose if I could find a sitter for Rosie-”  
“Ms. Hudson already agreed.”  
John looked quizzically at Sherlock. Maybe he had already known John would say yes, he probably did, but there was no point in arguing. It was probably some ridiculous experiment but, he could use a night out anyway, and he was off of the surgery tomorrow, so why not?  
“Well, yes, I suppose we might as well, then…”  
Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Rosie's cries echoing from John and her room.  
“At least try and get some sleep and eat something before we go out tonight, Sherlock, I know you're a lightweight and I don't want to wake up to Greg screaming again.” John smirked as he went to tend to his daughter.  
Sherlock simply shrugged in return, a small smile on his face.  
\-----------  
John returned from the surgery to find Sherlock in the same position in his chair as he had been this morning, but with a tight fitting purple shirt and his usual black jacket and trousers on as opposed to the pajamas and dressing gown he was wearing when John left for work. His eyes lingered momentarily on Sherlock's long fingers, tented and softly touching his lips. Sherlock's eyes were closed, but he didn't dare look for longer.  
“Cab will be here in thirty minutes, Rosie is already with Ms. Hudson.” Sherlock announced, eyes still closed.  
John made his way to his room to change and get ready, and returned ten minutes later wearing a pair of dark blue-black jeans and a grey button down shirt.  
Sherlock glanced at John as he walked in, holding his gaze for a moment. John was used to the way Sherlock looked at him- so intense with those oceanic eyes. Sherlock's gaze was only broken by the ding of his phone. Once, then again, then again.  
“Lestrade?” John asked, clearing his throat.  
Sherlock glanced at his phone, humming in response.  
“Important? We can go out another night.”  
“Never important. Five, no three. They can handle it. Anyway- cab is here.”  
Sherlock stood in a one fluid motion and headed towards the door, John followed behind him.  
“Say goodnight to Rosie before we go?” Sherlock asked as he grabbed his coat and scarf.  
“‘course.”  
Ms. Hudson was already standing at her door, a sleepy Rosie in her arms.  
“Thanks for watching her, if she gives you any trouble just call.” John said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before putting his coat on as well.  
“Don’t worry, John, she's an angel.” Ms. Hudson responded lovingly.  
Sherlock leaned down and kissed rosie on the head, “Behave, Watson, although according to the behavioral patterns of your parents, I doubt you will.”  
John smiled. Sherlock continued to surprise him with his treatment of Rosie. He could see he loved her as much as John.  
Sherlock turned gracefully and headed out the door. John kissed Rosie one more time and followed him out.  
\-----------  
Sherlock found a table while John ordered drinks. John talked him out of the beakers this time- but he had redone the data around 16 oz servings while John was at work.  
He watched John as he leaned against the bar, gray-blond hair shining in the dim light of the bar. A woman next to him turned and smiled- he smiled politely in return, and they started chatting.  
Sherlock watched them, impatiently waiting for the bartender to hand John the drinks so he could walk back to the table. His attention was so set on John he almost didn't notice a man lean up against the table he sat at.  
“A handsome man like you, sitting all alone, that's just not right.” the man said, not even trying to disguise the way he hungrily looked at Sherlock's lips.  
“Not alone, waiting.” Sherlock replied, glancing over at the man. He was definitely not unattractive, only an inch or so shorter than Sherlock, grey and black hair styled to perfection, strong jawline, and impeccably dressed. The two top buttons on his shirt were undone, showing a hint of what Sherlock deduced was an impressive physique.  
The man followed Sherlock’s gaze to John.  
“The military type, huh?”  
Sherlock looked curiously at him.  
“Look at the way he holds himself- that's no civilian stance.” the man chuckled at the slight hint of intrigue on Sherlock's face.  
“Anyway- he's making his way back now, he's a very lucky man.” the stranger said with a wink as he turned to walk away.  
Sherlock watched him leave for a moment before looking down at the table where he had slyly left his number on a napkin. He quickly pocketed the napkin as John set the drinks down.  
“What was that about?” John asked looking in the direction of attractive grey haired man, a hint of jealousy well disguised in his voice.  
“Nothing important.” Sherlock responded in an attempt to change the subject.  
“No luck with that… person at the bar, then?”  
John took a drink from his glass, “no, not really interested.”  
Sherlock said nothing.  
“Right, then- cheers,” John held up his glass, and Sherlock returned the gesture, clinking the glasses together.  
“Old viking tradition. The harder you hit the glass against the other the better. It was a sign of trust- your drink would spill into theirs and vice versa, that way you know it's not poisoned.”  
“Well wouldn't want to break the glasses in a bar nowadays.” John responded with a laugh.  
“I would know if you were trying to poison me.” Sherlock responded expressionlessly.  
“Right, I wouldn't… well, cheers to that.” John lifted his glass and drank.  
Sherlock smirked and did the same.  
\------------  
Sherlock was his fourth… fifth, drink in? He had this all planned out to not get too drunk, but he was having trouble keeping the data straight in his head, and it was far too loud and idiot filled of a bar to really concentrate on his mind palace. He took comfort in John's smiling face. He was up at the bar again, laughing with the bartender as he got another round for them. He watched him grab the drinks and start walking back towards Sherlock when a young kid, maybe 20, threw a peanut at John. It was innocent enough, a group of 20 somethings just messing around, but Sherlock suddenly felt enraged.  
“He threw a peanut at you!” he announced incredulously to John as John returned, drinks in hand. “being kids, Sherlock, it's fine. I've had worse things thrown at me when I'm on cases with you.” he laughed.  
John could see a flash of hurt in Sherlock's eyes, but it came as fast as it went.  
“No, I don't mean in a bad way- it's just a joke Sherlock, I like getting things thrown at me-” John paused. That didn't come out as he had meant.  
“I'm fine, I'm quite aware that you enjoy things being thrown at you,” Sherlock replied. He could hear the slur in his own words, his machine of a brain was running slow.  
“Just kids- not a big deal.”  
“They could have hurt you, John.”  
“Right, and only you’re allowed to do that.”  
Sherlock stared at John, his icy eyes piercing and unreadable.  
“Sherlock, I didn’t mean that…” He managed to say after a moment of awkward silence.  
“No, John, no need to apologize. I understand that I have hurt you. It is only fair.”  
“No, I’m sor-” John was abruptly cut off by an ice cube hitting him in the back of the head.  
John turned around to say something, but Sherlock was already out of his chair and making his way over to the table of 20-somethings, all grace and curls and eyes like daggers. John felt a shiver go through him and settle low in his belly.  
“I know 11 completely untraceable poisons and 127 places within a 100 mile radius that no one will ever find you.” Sherlock’s voice was low and serious.  
“Look at this fag- you think you can scare us?!” the tallest of the boys said standing up from the table so he was eye to eye with Sherlock.  
“Leave him alone, Brian, he seems serious.” Another boy said to no avail.  
Brian swung at Sherlock barely missing his face. Sherlock stumbled a bit, he was more intoxicated that he had originally thought- John must have been getting stronger drinks than what he had calculated for.  
John saw the swing and decided that he should probably stop this before it got worse.  
Brian took another drunken swing at Sherlock, this time just grazing his jaw. John took that moment to push the young man back.  
“Awe, your boyfriend here to save you?” Brian taunted, but was immediately shut up by John, who grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.  
“Do not fuck with my friend- I will kill you and he will hide your body where no one can find it.”  
“Okay, okay- fuck off, you're going to break my arm.”  
John let go of Brian's arm and pushed him into the table his friends were at as the bouncer started to run towards them.  
“Time to go.” John said, grabbing a dazed Sherlock's arm before running towards the back exit.  
They ran about a block and a half and turned into an alley, before stopping to breath between hysterical laughter.  
“It can never be a normal night out with you, Sherlock.”  
“Normal is boring.” Sherlock responded with a wide smile.  
“Your jaw- did he hurt you?” John asked once he could breathe again. He reached up to touch the red spot forming on Sherlock's chin.  
“No, its fine.” Sherlock answered, his voice betraying him and shaking slightly at John's touch. “could have been a lot worse if you hadn't intervened.”  
“Can't seem to stay out of fights when I'm with you.”  
Sherlock smiled softly, suddenly all too aware of how close he was to John's face. John let his hand linger on Sherlock's jaw as he stared at the taller man.  
Sherlock reached up and cupped his hand on John's cheek. “John…” he could feel his brain swimming in leftover adrenaline and alcohol.  
He leaned down cautiously at first, but at no sign of hesitation he closed the gap between himself and John, their lips meeting in a shy, soft kiss.  
John didn't know what to say as Sherlock pulled away. His mind went blank and he could only think about Sherlock’s lips on his. He pulled Sherlock's head back down for a harder kiss, and the younger man didn't argue. John reached back to knot his fingers in that soft curly hair, earning a quiet moan from the dark haired man that settled deep in John's belly.  
Sherlock's hands gracefully slipped from John's shoulders and down his chest to wrap around the small of his back and pulled him closer.  
“Told you they were fucking gay.” a voice called from the street at the end of the alley. Without a beat John pulled away from Sherlock's kiss, took his gun from his coat and pointed it at the group of boys.  
“Bisexual, actually, and still willing to kill you.”  
The group ran as fast as they could down the street.  
Sherlock cleared his throat, the red in his face reaching down to the bit of skin exposed on his chest. “Cab, then? I'm sure Lestrade would let it slip if the police came, but we already agreed to not end another night drinking in jail, I believe.”  
“Yeah, probably for the best.”  
They made their way towards the street, Sherlock's usually graceful gait was tinged with a drunkenness that made John smile.  
“2...1…” Sherlock slurred.  
“221B” John corrected, excited he had remembered what had slipped Sherlock's mind.  
“Right, Baker Street, 221B Baker Street.”  
The cab pulled into the street and John lay his head on Sherlock's shoulder. It felt so natural to be so close to him. He reached over and set his hand softly atop his detective’s long pale fingers, and they sat like that in a comfortable drunken silence for the rest if the ride home.  
\-------------  
Sherlock made his way up the steps to the door of 221, but stumbled as he opened the door to enter. John reached out and caught his arm to stop him from falling and they both started to laugh while they took off their coats and clumsily hung them up.  
“Home so early, again?” they heard from Ms. Hudson's door.  
“John threatened some university student with a gun.” Sherlock slurred.  
“Yes, but they deserved it.” John laughed.  
“Oh my, you boys always getting into trouble.” Ms. Hudson's voice sounded concerned, but her smile said otherwise. “Just don’t be too loud, you don't want to wake Rosie.” She finished, with a knowing glance towards their intertwined fingers.  
“Right-”  
“No promises.” Sherlock said with a sly smirk.  
John's face blushed red as he turned to drag Sherlock up the stairs to their flat.  
“Goodnight, then, boys.” she called after them with a giggle, mumbling something about not needing two bedrooms as she made her way back into her own flat.  
Sherlock had barely had time to shut the door behind them before John had him pushed against the wall, planting soft kisses on his pale neck.  
“mm.. John…”  
“Shut up, Sherlock.”  
John bit his ear, knotting his fingers into those soft, dark curls.  
“Joh-” John cut him off with a kiss, biting Sherlock's soft lower lip, begging to be let in for more.  
Sherlock couldn't resist- didn't want to resist, he wanted this for so long. His soldier's hands in his hair, lips pressed together, bodies so close. He moaned as John slid his leg between his thighs.  
Sherlock pressed his hands on John's lower back, bringing him closer. He couldn’t get close enough. He needed all of him.  
John was a bit surprised at how receptive Sherlock was. They had never really talked about their respective sex lives, and John assumed Sherlock didn’t really have one. He was obviously wrong, this was no virgin kiss. It was taking a lot of effort to resist ripping off his clothes and taking him right now. He took one hand from Sherlock's neck and slid it down his chest to his waist band. He slipped his fingers under the detective’s shirt and onto his hip bone.  
Sherlock gasped at the skin contact, pulling away to breathe.  
“John…”  
The shorter man didn’t stop. He tugged slightly at Sherlock's curls, exposing that beautiful pale neck flushed with red.  
“God, Sherlock, you're so beautiful.”  
He moaned in return, storing those words in his mind palace for later.  
John slid his hand around Sherlock's back to pull him closer, but then he stopped. Even tipsy he couldn't mistake the feeling of… scars?  
He pulled away from Sherlock's neck and looked up in shock at his face.  
“I was trying to… warn you. You had me a bit distracted.”  
“Let me see.” John demanded.  
“It's nothing, John, just healing flesh. Nothing to see, really.”  
“I know what they are, I am a doctor, so let me see.” John was almost yelling, suddenly feeling quite a bit more sober.  
“Exactly, you're a doctor. So you should understand that it's nothing.”  
“Fuck, Sherlock. Not as a doctor, let me see as a friend, or….” he trailed off. What was he? Friends seemed like the wrong term considering they're current position.  
“Drunken one night stand.” Sherlock suggested.  
“One night… that’s what this is?”  
Sherlock didn’t say a word, he just stared at John, who had now, regrettably, taken a step back.  
“Right. I could have guessed, I suppose that was “obvious”.”  
“John…”  
“What, Sherlock? What could you possibly have to say now?! You go off and get yourself nearly killed all the time, you never tell me anything, you leave me to think you've been dead for two years, I leave you for a month and you overdose, and then I leave you for four minutes and you overdose again, then you almost get murdered by a crazy serial killer, then you try and shoot yourself in front of me in that rat maze your sister made. Of course it's “obvious”. Why would I ever think I could be more to you than a convenience for you to impress or drunkenly sleep with?!”  
“John… that isn't-”  
“That isn't what?! That isn't what I am to you? Your pet for you to have when it's convenient?!”  
John looked Sherlock in the eye, ready to start yelling again, but he was instead shocked at… tears? Sherlock Holmes, was he crying?  
“Sherlock…?”  
“You're right, John.” he responded, his voice raspy and barely above a whisper. “You could never be more… because I know I'll never be enough. I know I'm a ridiculous man, I am rude and hurtful and never tell you what I'm doing…”  
“Fuck, Sherlock- I'm sorry, I'm still a little drunk… I just get pissed off-”  
“As a substitute for feeling sad, I know.”  
John glared at him, but then his expression softened a bit. He reached up to wipe a tear from Sherlock's face, but Sherlock flinched and looked away.  
They just stood like that for a few seconds, John's hand still in the air and Sherlock's face turned away, eyes covered by his now messy curls.  
John broke the silence, “I suppose I'm not much better… You have hurt me, a lot,” Sherlock flinched again, “but I guess I haven't been much better. I know I blamed you for Mary, and I hurt you time and time again…”  
Sherlock turned his head back to meet John's gaze.  
“You have done nothing wrong, John-”  
“No, no- Sherlock- I know you tried to get yourself killed by that serial killer because you were trying to save me, and I know shooting yourself was the only way out of that death maze… and you know I am not good at this- this stuff, these talks. And I did do wrong, I have literally punched you multiple times. I still really hate that you had to pretend to die and leave me broken hearted and alone, but I know Moriarty threatened me, Molly told me. And I hate that you overdosed after Magnussen-”  
“I had to solve that old case for Mor-”  
“SHUT UP!”  
Sherlock listened. He didn't want John to leave again.  
“I don’t always get the things you do, but… I- fuck, for some reason- I love you, Sherlock. I fucking love you, you bloody git. I told you once that you should text the woman back because that chance would be gone before you know it, but I was hoping you'd choose me- I was hoping you'd say something then. Of course you deserve me. I am the same as you, I'm just as lost and friendless… and I feel less lost with you, okay?”  
Sherlock just started, blinking.  
“Don’t do that again, Sherlock.”  
“You…”  
“Yes.”  
“You… love me, too?”  
John smiled nervously. “Of course I love you, you arsehole.”  
“But you always say you're not gay.”  
“Right, yeah, I'm bisexual, like I mentioned after the bar. But I never tried anything because you're you, you're ‘married to your work’, ‘high functioning sociopath’, and you told me you ‘sometime texted the woman’ whatever that means.”  
“Yes, but you, John, everything is always for you. I did text the woman, but it wasn't for anything like that, I texted her for advice about you, when you were gone and I couldn't cope. I can't work without you. I've told you before that it's always you, you keep me right.”  
“I was supposed to, what? Take that as a confession?”  
“I thought it was fairly obvious.”  
John frowned.  
“Right. Not obvious, then.”  
John sighed, looking away to try and conceal his smirk. Sherlock smiled in return.  
“The scars then, will you tell me what they're from?”  
Sherlock’s smile faded to a cold empty look.  
“They're really fine, John, they're from years ago, when I was gone.”  
“How have I never noticed-”  
“I made sure you didn't. I caused you so much pain those years, I let you mourn for me… I didn't want to worry you more than I had. I know I am good at keeping sentiment out of my work, but Magnussen was right, you are my weakness, you always are.”  
John looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes.  
“I've always loved you, John.” Sherlock took a step forward and wrapped his arms around John, burying his face in the shorter man's shoulder. “Since you first walked in at Bart’s.”  
“Bollocks.” John said, laughing a bit as he wrapped his arms around the taller man.  
“It's not, I have a thing for soldiers.”  
John chuckled, pulling away from the hug to look at Sherlock's face.  
“So Baskerville, and that case with Bainbridge must have been fun for you.”  
Sherlock smiled, “It would have been, but I brought the most attractive soldier with me.”  
“Are you flirting with me, Sherlock Holmes?”  
“Obviously.”  
John leaned up and kissed Sherlock softly, cherishing it now that he was feeling more sober.  
Sherlock kissed back, pulling him close once again and revelling in John's warmth.  
Rain started to patter against the windows of 221B as John and Sherlock made their way down the hall and into Sherlock's silk sheets.

**Author's Note:**

> The guy at the bar had a point when I started writing. I kept him in, but kept out the angst that I was going to put there. 
> 
> Anyways. Thanks for reading. ❤


End file.
